The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Victoria Kincaid

  His words faded away as his façade began to falter. She knew he was a painfully honest man and found it hard to profess reassurances he did not experience, but it made no difference; he had confirmed her worst fears. At the same time she was oddly pleased he had not lied to her.

  Her sluggish brain returned to her previous realization: Darcy had been crying. He had been crying because he feared she would die. For the first time, Elizabeth felt tears leak from the corners of her own eyes.

  What had she done to him? If she had not misunderstood him so horribly at Hunsford – If she had not said such hurtful things -- events would have unfolded differently. They probably would have never come to France and she would not have fallen ill. I am the cause of his pain, she realized. I refused him and caused him pain – and now I will die and bring more anguish into his life. He deserves better – far better.

  “Oh, Elizabeth….” He found a clean handkerchief on the bedside table and tenderly wiped her tears away. The soft cloth felt good against her skin.

  Unable to bear her sorrow and guilt, she glanced down at her hands. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed.

  “For what? For falling ill? You can hardly accept the blame for that.” He managed a little smile.

  “No, I never should have…” Her words trailed off. She attempted to force her fever-clouded mind into some semblance of coherence. What should she have done? With a shock she realized that she regretted not accepting his proposal. She wished she had accepted it -- wished it with all her heart! When had these emotions stolen over her? When had she fallen in love with Mr. Darcy? And why had she only realized it now, when it was too late?

  This realization made her weep more, which, in turn, troubled Darcy further. Murmuring reassuringly, he attempted to wipe away the tears as they fell. The fine linen handkerchief was now quite damp. Her hand reached out to grasp his.

  “I am so sorry….” She wished to put the conviction of her sentiments into every word. However, it took great effort to speak at all.

  Darcy was shaking his head vigorously. “You have nothing to regret. I told you—”

  “No! Listen to me!” Darcy closed his mouth abruptly. “I…am sorry I did not—” If only she could articulate everything she was experiencing, but her heart was so full it seemed to choke her words. “We have wasted so much time! I apologize….I have wasted so much time.”

  Confusion creased his brow. “I am afraid I do not—”

  She had neither the time nor the energy to be circumspect and ladylike in her words. “I regret that I did not say yes at Hunsford, Mr. D—William.” A brief smile curved his mouth at the sound of his given name on her lips. “I regret that more than I can say….If I had not abused you so abominably – we might be – be….” Her hoarse voice trailed off.

  “Married?” He whispered.

  “Yes. It is all my fault.” It was so hard to breathe; she struggled to emphasize each word so he would believe she meant what she said.

  Darcy was shaking his head. “No, darling, I was the one in the wrong. You were correct to—”

  She cut him off with a feeble wave of her hand. “Nevertheless, we have wasted all that time when we could have been happy – together. And I only just realized it. And you knew. I think you have always known deep down. I should have understood it before – even in Paris I did not see.” Her tears had dried, but she could hear the despair in her voice.

  “See what?” He asked gently.

  “How much I love you.” The words came out almost in a whisper. “I was blind to it before – I was blind!” Tears were shining in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill out. “I am sorry we wasted so much time,” she repeated.

  “Thank you for telling me.” His hand gripped hers harder. Even in the midst of sorrow, she could see that he was happy about her revelation. “I am not angry with you. I love you.” He looked down at their hands as his thumb began to caress her palm.

  “I do not understand why. Silly man!” She gave him a wan smile and he returned it with such an attempt at cheer it hurt her heart.

  “Well, if that is truly how you feel about me,” he said, “then I absolutely forbid you to – to—” The word seemed to choke him.

  “I do not believe it is my decision – or yours.”

  “Believe me,” he said fervently, “I have said many prayers.”

  “Well, if God will do His part, I will do my best as well.” But even as she said this she recognized it was growing more difficult to breathe; her words were coming out in gasps.

  “That is all I can ask.”

  Elizabeth felt darkness pull her down as the edges of her eyesight were getting foggy and black. “I love you, William.”

  “I love you, Elizabeth.” Then all was dark.

  Darcy kept holding her hand. Now that she was asleep, he allowed two tears to trickle down his cheeks. He was uncertain if it made it better or worse to know how she felt about him. No, he realized, he was happy he knew she returned his love. Even if the worst happened, it was better to know. At the same time, the thought of losing her caused him to mourn a life with her that might never be. Terror blossomed in the pit of his stomach as he thought about a future without her.

  He tried to convince himself that her recent coherence was a positive sign for her recovery, but he understood from past experience that she was usually at her best in early morning. Later in the day she would worsen, he was certain – and released an audible moan at the thought.

  The day passed with agonizing slowness. Darcy did not wish to lose one moment with Elizabeth, refusing all offers of meals until Whitmore insisted he at least eat a tray in the room. The doctor visited and perceived no change in his patient’s condition. In the late afternoon, her fever rose to the highest Darcy had yet seen it. She was burning up and thrashing as her breath came in harsh, slow gasps.

  It was agony seeing her in such distress. Darcy did everything he could to make her comfortable, applying wet compresses to her warm forehead and propping her up on pillows to ease her breathing. But he could do pitifully little to ease her discomfort. Every gasp of breath pierced his heart as he wondered if it would be her last. If she delayed taking a breath, panic would grip him. At one point, when she was breathing more easily, he leaned in close and whispered into her ear, “I love you, Elizabeth. Remain with me. Do not leave me, please!”

  Around dinner time he perceived a change. Sweat started pouring out of every pore in her body. Perspiration soaked her pillow and the bed’s coverings, so much so that Darcy asked the maid to change the sheets and her nightgown twice because they were wet through. Around midnight he was carefully tucked in the soft linen sheets around Elizabeth’s still form when he realized the import of the perspiration. Perhaps the fever had broken! Gingerly, he felt her forehead and then her arms, noting that her skin remained excessively warm, but it was far cooler than in the days past. Hope started creeping back into his breast. Was it possible she had survived the worst of the illness? Still huddled in the chair next to her bedside, he kissed her much cooler brow, fervently hoping and praying. Eventually he settled his head on the bed next to Elizabeth and slept.

  Much later he awoke to the sensation of someone stroking his hair. It was very pleasant. No one had done so since his mother had passed away. Then he remembered where he was. What is happening? He straightened up with a start.

  Elizabeth yanked her hand away as if burned. “Mr. Darcy, I apologize!”

  “No…” He attempted to shake himself into some sort of coherence. The room was still dark, so it was still deep into the night. “Do not be sorry…I….” Capturing her hand, he gently kissed the tips of her fingers and peered earnestly into her face. Her color was definitely better: neither pale nor fever flushed. Suddenly he realized he was simply staring at her. “Would you like some water?” Assisting her into a sitting position, he handed her a glass. This time she was able to hold it, although she needed both hands.

  When she was finished drinking, he reca
ptured her hand and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  She considered for a moment. “Better, actually. But so tired and weak…” Her voice was stronger, but had a wheezy quality that reminded him she was still far from recovered.

  “Understandably.”

  “I am afraid I will be deprived of my deathbed scene after all. I had so hoped to give a grand speech and then perish like a heroine in a novel!” She smiled and he chuckled.

  “I am just as happy to be denied my role in such a scene.” His hand held hers in a death grip; he never wanted let it go again.

  Her eyes sought his. “Thank you…for caring for me…for everything.” Her eyes were so clear and free of fever, he wanted to cry for joy.

  “You are welcome, but I did little. You had the true fight.”

  She laid her head back and closed her eyes for a long moment. Darcy believed she had fallen asleep, but soon she opened her eyes again and regarded him steadily. “I find it very comforting when you hold my hand, but I do not expect you to do so over the course of hours.”

  “I do not mind—” He began, but she shushed him.

  “I know. However, you are exhausted.” He started to protest, but she shook her head. “You should return to your room and sleep. I can summon a maid if I need anything.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I cannot leave you alone.”

  “I am feeling far better.”

  He gazed down at their clasped hands and then up into her eyes. “I can see that you are better, but you are not completely recovered. I cannot be sanguine until I see further improvement – and I expect I would be unable to sleep in my room.”

  She sighed. “I thought you might say something like that.” Then she gestured to the vast expanse of bed next to her. “I have all this space, please lie down.”

  “No…I cannot…it would not be proper—” Yes! His baser nature urged, but he knew he must fight the temptation.

  Elizabeth gestured impatiently. “Forget propriety. No one will be the wiser – and you require rest.” He shook his head again. “Please? For me? It will be comforting you have you lying beside me.” She had unerringly hit on the one argument he could not deny.

  In a moment temptation had conquered all his objections. “Very well.” He silently climbed in next to her, but did not get under the sheets. With his clothing on, he would be warm enough to sleep without covers. She rolled on her side, near the edge of the bed. He dared not put his arm around her waist as he had when she was asleep, but he did cover her hand with his where it rested on her hip – a contented sigh escaped her.

  Darcy held himself rigidly, afraid he would accidentally initiate more contact; however, he soon heard the steady rhythm of her breathing, still quite raspy. She was sleeping, but it was a much quieter, more restful sleep than before. Smiling with relief, he realized he did not want to surrender possession of her hand for all the world.

  The sounds of floorboards creaking in the hallway awoke Darcy in the early morning. His arm was flung over Elizabeth in a most compromising position. Flushing, he saw gratefully that she seemed deeply asleep. He slid off of the bed and anxiously viewed the patient, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Darcy exhaled a sigh of relief; for a horrible moment he had imagined he had only dreamed that she had improved. She had developed a worrisome wet, hacking cough, but she was so exhausted that no amount of coughing could awaken her.

  The doctor arrived shortly thereafter. While he examined Elizabeth, Darcy went to room to wash up and change his clothing. He spoke to Flouret in the hall. “Quite a remarkable change. I believe Miss Bennet will recover completely – although it will take some time. I think she still has a fever, but it is slight. Her breathing has improved remarkably. The coughing is something we must watch. It could develop into pneumonia. Be sure she does not exert herself too much. She needs rest to recover her strength.” Darcy agreed wholeheartedly to adhere to every admonishment and the doctor departed.

  When Darcy returned to the room, he found Elizabeth awake and sitting up, displaying a heart-melting smile when he entered. At that moment, he knew he would do anything for her.

  Over the next few days, Elizabeth slowly regained her strength. Of all her symptoms, only a nagging cough persisted. She spent most of her time in bed, but two days into her recovery, the doctor allowed her to stand and walk about for a few minutes. The first day, this minimal activity exhausted her to such an extent that she was compelled to agree with the doctor that she was not yet ready to resume a normal schedule.

  Originally she ate nothing but broth and gruel – and exhibited little appetite. But then the doctor allowed a greater variety of foods, much to Elizabeth’s delight. By the fourth day she was eating normal foods, although her appetite was still greatly diminished. Alarmed at how much weight she had lost, Darcy encouraged her to eat at every opportunity, even badgering Whitmore’s cook to supply her favorite foods.

  Darcy delighted in every sign of progress, no matter how small – even greeting with enthusiasm her demands for bread instead of gruel and complaints about her lack of a bath. A rosy color returned to her cheeks and energy returned to her conversation. He was particularly pleased when she began again to tease him; he had missed her arch comments and pert asides, but he still shuddered when he recalled how close he had come to losing her altogether.

  Elizabeth enjoyed the company of Whitmore’s wife Marie, who was a quiet and thoughtful woman. She would bring Elizabeth flowers from their garden – something the invalid cherished. They talked of their lives and Marie told them of the news from the outside word. The two women soon became fast friends. Whitmore was an infrequent visitor – being in a lady’s bedchamber was simply too uncomfortable for him, but he did visit long enough to make Elizabeth’s acquaintance.

  With so little activity, Elizabeth soon became bored. She read and worked on some of the embroidery she had brought to France, but she was by nature an active woman and the enforced inactivity chafed at her. Most mornings Darcy read to her – usually poetry of Byron or Wordsworth, although he alternated with plays of Shakespeare – and discovered again how similar their tastes in reading were. Elizabeth was even interested in books of history and eagerly devoured the latest reports on the war against Bonaparte, a kind of active curiosity he had not seen in most women. But then she was not most women. Elizabeth even cajoled him into reading a contemporary novel – which he had previously disdained, but he found he rather liked it.

  Now that the anxiety of Elizabeth’s illness was past, Darcy found himself enjoying their relative freedom and seclusion. He had no estate business to address and no social obligations to fulfill. He simply spent time with Elizabeth – what more could he ask?

  On the other hand, he felt uncertainty about how matters stood between himself and Elizabeth—she had never referred to their conversation on that horrible night when he feared she was about to die. That night she had told him she loved him, and he treasured that memory. But the terrible thought had occurred to him that she did not even recall the conversation. Or did she remember it merely as a fevered dream? Worse still was the thought that she had only said those things because she thought she was dying. Had her attachment for him changed upon more sober reflection?

  He tried to reassure himself that she was undoubtedly happy in his presence and seemed to desire his company. Despite the impropriety of his continued presence in her bed chamber, she never objected. He had visited her when she was sick and he saw no reason to discontinue the practice now, but he lived in fear that she would tactfully admit one day that his presence was uncomfortable to her. She had reverted to calling him Mr. Darcy once more – and he no longer called her by her given name, which had fallen so easily from his lips when she was sick. Now that she was improving, such intimacies felt inappropriate.

  Nevertheless, Darcy longed to discover the truth of her sentiments, but feared distressing her and interrupting the smooth progress of her recovery. This did not prevent him from experiencing an agon
y of uncertainty. That terrible night he thought he had won her regard, but now he was not so sure. Every day he feared learning that her feelings about him had changed once more and that she desired nothing from him but friendship. He wanted to discuss it with her, but was unsure how to broach the topic. By the way, one night in a feverish delirium you said you love me. Did you mean it? It was awkward, to say the least.

  After five days of recovery, one evening Elizabeth was well enough to go down for a very pleasant dinner with Whitmore and Marie. Elizabeth admired everything from the luxuriously appointed dining room to the delicious roast, while Whitmore related the latest news regarding the war. “No battles have been joined, but there has been much posturing on both sides. Unfortunately, the English navy captured two French ships. Napoleon has retaliated by ordering the arrest of all English men between 18 and 60 years of age who still remain in France.”

  Elizabeth gasped and shot a panicked look at Darcy.

  “You are both safe here,” Whitmore reassured her. “Marie’s family is an important one and her uncle lives not far away. They have been enough to protect me for years. No one will arrest me or a guest under my roof – and our servants are loyal; they will not reveal your presence here.”

  Darcy nodded slowly. “The danger will be when we leave here to seek passage across the Channel.”

  “Just so,” Whitmore concurred reluctantly. “And I am afraid Calais is where they will expect to find the most Englishmen. You must find passage to England from somewhere else. I will investigate your options.”

  Elizabeth grew ghostly pale. “Then we must leave as soon as possible. Departing will only grow more difficult with time.”

  Darcy shook his head emphatically. “No, the doctor said you could not travel for several more days.” The stricken look remained on her face. Darcy cast about for ways to reassure her. “Do not worry. We will find a way home. I might be required to hire a fishing boat, but we will arrive safely.”